The Last Man
by MAI742
Summary: The last man on earth sat alone in a room...
1. The Last Man

_The last man on Earth sat alone in a room. There was a knock on the door..._

- Frederic Brown, 'The Knock'

* * *

He slept fitfully, periodically starting from unsettling dreams.

The armchair in which he sat was old and tatty, but comfortable. It was the only piece of furniture in the room, save for the bed that was right behind it and a metal locker in one corner. The ceiling was low and the windows were small. They were also boarded up. A pile of smouldering ash and charcoal radiated heat from the hearth, a pile of logs to one side of the fireplace and several buckets of earth to the other.

A machine-pistol rested in his lap. Every so often, as he shifted about uneasily in sleep, his hands would grip the weapon until his knuckles showed white.

The door was, by virtue of a heavy-looking bolt, locked.

When he rose from the chair at last, he felt more weary than when he had collapsed into it the night before.

His tread was silent as he made his way across the carpet.

Before he drew back the bolt, he listened.

He heard only the sounds of the house, the subtle creaking and groaning of its sturdy but subtly-shifting structure.

In a swift movement he unbolted the door and threw it back, advancing into the corridor beyond and checking both sides of it before, again, listening.

Just the house.

The doors were all closed, bolted from this side. He checked his watch again just to be sure. It was daytime.

Not that that changed anything.

He moved to the windows and unbolted the shutters, opening them with one hand.

The other kept the weapon leveled at them.

The view beyond was innocuous. Above, a sky of grey. The greys and browns of the forested hillside offered something of a contrast to the dull white of the ground.

The snow was here to stay, now.

Quietly he trod across to his ready-room, pausing before it. He turned on the barrel-mounted flashlight.

In a single movement he unbolted the door threw it open and made a sweep of the room beyond.

Nothing.

He listened all the same.

He moved carefully through the room, checking the windows or rather, the shutters.

They were all secure.

He let his guard down, mostly, and moved to bolt the door shut behind him.

He let his gaze linger on the open window.

He frowned.

Let the feeling slide as he shut and bolted the door again, moving to open a window.

The view outside was much the same.

This window overlooked the front yard. Not that there was anything to see.

The valley beyond was empty, desolate. In the far distance the towers loomed, their outlines fuzzy about the edges.

It was snowing, then.

He turned his attention to his stomach.

There was rice from last night. He poured a couple of his last tins of vegetables into a pot, along with some water from _the bucket_, lit the stove and boiled it all until it was cooked.

He was glad of the stove. It was why he'd chosen this place.

He ate quickly, but not because he wanted to; it was hot food.

One didn't let it get cold.

Couldn't.

Once he'd stowed everything away again, he shut and bolted the shutters. He repeated the same routine from before as he left the room and entered another, discarding his underclothes behind the locked door and donning another set before entering the hall again.

After bolting the shutters on the hallway-window, he unbolted a door like all the others and bolted it behind him again without turning around.

He descended the short flight of stairs and stood before the door at the bottom of them.

After another half-minute of listening, he rushed through.

This corridor was empty, too.

Halfway along it, there was an open space on one side. He cleared the blind corner in a single rapid movement.

Nothing.

To one side of the front door there was a metal locker much like the one in the bedroom.

He checked the rest of the doors along the corridor - all bolted - before returning to the locker.

He opens it and places the still-warm weapon back in its place, magazine still inserted. He flicks on the safety catch, as an afterthought.

He puts on a sort of belt-harness. It is somewhat bulky, but does not restrict his freedom of movement by much. He checks the pouches on it. They contain magazines, as anticipated.

He picks out two larger weapons, loading them and chambering a round in each. He slings the first, longer weapon over his shoulder and it comes to rest against his back. He slings the second over his other shoulder, this one coming to rest against his chest.

His hands go to his sides, where the pistol and the knife are waiting in their thigh-holsters, as they have been all morning.

He shuts the locker and faces the door, breathing deeply to calm himself.

He undoes the bolts and jerks the door backwards and open in a violent motion, stepping back and steadying his weapon as he points it out into the cold beyond.

The wind rustles through the bare branches.

Moving only his eyes, he examines the wilderness beyond the doorway over the barrel of his rifle.

A minute of listening and watching later, he darts through the doorway and makes a sweep of the house behind him.

Nothing is out of place.

His breathing slowing, he moves to lock the door when there is a not-too-distant, loud creak in the woods to one side.

He freezes.

He resists the urge to panic, instead dropping to one knee and leveling his weapon at the direction of the noise.

The simple iron sights do nothing to magnify the hillside. He cannot see anything out of place...

_Stupid_. _Stupid, stupid, stupid..._

Without taking his eys off the spot he is already fishing his binoculars out of his webbing with his free hand, bringing them to his eyes and examining the place where he thinks the noise came from...

Maybe it was nothing.

Half a minute later he decides it was nothing. Just a branch breaking under the weight of the snow.

He produces a set of keys from somewhere and locks the door behind him.

Keys still in hand, he circles around the house.

Nothing is broken. It's in good shape. All the windows are shut, the curtains drawn.

All the windows bar one on the first floor, which is boarded up from the outside.

And the inside, of course.

He makes for the windowless, doorless garage-shed, pausing to watch and listen for a moment before unlocking the door.

He examines the hillside very carefully.

More nothing.

He curses himself for forgetting to grease the damned thing at the groaning creak the garage door gives as it swings up and open.

He darts inside, listening and watching from there.

Hands gripping his weapon tightly, he hears nothing unusual.

After a moment he goes outside again, makes another sweep.

Nothing, apparently.

He sprays the hinges with generous helpings of lubricant and gives the door another, experimental swing. It is virtually silent again.

He gives it another spray before unslinging his weapons, resting the longer one on the front passenger seat. He fastens the seatbelt over it, pinning it upright. He slings the shorter weapon in the usual way, such that it is hangs about his chest. He starts the vehicle up without a hitch and drives it out to the front gate before killing the engine, engaging the brake and jumping out to listen and to look with weapon in hands.

He sees nothing, hears nothing suspicious.

He shuts and locks the garage door before starting the car again.

It is a simple vehicle; he doesn't know its name or its model or its specifications, though he'd have to be blind to miss its maker. He took it because it's all he knows how to take care of.

Or rather, to _maintain_.

The only sound is the throttling hum of the engine.

His features do not seem so burdened, now that he is leaving the woods behind or rather, _will_ be soon, just as soon as he clears this next hamlet.

As he rounds one of the last bends before he is clear of them at last, he sees something...

A tree has fallen across the road.

He freezes. A few seconds later he hits the brakes, gently.

A quiet decelerration later he comes to a halt not more than twenty yards from it. It was a tall thing, they all were, and the road is narrow here; it blocks both lanes in their entirety.

The thicket about him is very quiet, though it is hard to hear it properly over the sound of the engine. He makes a slow sweep of the trees as he breaks out into a cold sweat. He checks his mirrors.

Nothing seems out of place.

Looking at it again, he remembers the tree. It was old, rotting. This was a long time coming.

All the same...

He scans the trees again.

This wasn't the only road. It would mean another hour's round-trip, but that was doable. He checked his watch.

A part of him rebelled. An extra hour? There was so little daylight as it was...

He shuddered.

He didn't _need_ to be out here today, he didn't _need_ the supplies...

But he would in a couple of months. Maybe three, at the most. And then, it would be dark. Dark all the time.

Winter was nearly here. _He had to be ready..._

Steeling himself, he kills the engine.

And _listens_.

He unlocks the door and clambers out.

His knuckles show white as he grips the weapon, scanning the trees.

Still quiet.

He shuts the door behind him.

Silently, he treads over to the side of the road. The drainage ditch is full of snow. Nothing can be seen amongst the trees beyond.

He makes his way down into it, using one hand to steady himself.

The other never leaves his weapon.

Once in it he treads carefully, weapon leveled, creeping his way past the tree.

Nothing waits behind it.

He makes his way up to the road.

Just a tree. There are no other tracks, apart from his own.

He relaxes a fraction.

He resists the urge to simply climb over the tree - the whole thing, branches and all, isn't even to his shoulders.

The trunk isn't all that thick. He has a chainsaw. He could cut a path for the car in ten minutes, maybe less.

_Probably_ less.

Eyes mostly on the trees as he backtracks past the tree and up to the car again, he quickly decides against it.

He makes another scan of the woods.

He hears nothing.

He opens the door sits down keys the ignition shuts the door and locks it.

Quickly he shifts gear and turns the car as he reverses. Changing gear again, he sets off back the way he came.

He glances to the rear-view mirror for a moment.

The tree looks no different.

Keeping his eyes on the road before him, he plots out another route into town in his head.

The sky is darker than before.

As he follows the road back, it starts to snow.

He curses quietly, under his breath. He should've attached the chains earlier.

He slows down, glancing again at the sky and then his watch. Then back to the sky, and the falling snow.

When he comes to the vital intersection, he brings the car to a stop and eyes the rear-view mirror for an intense moment. Then he gazes down the road to town. And finally, he surveys the way to the safe-house.

After only a moment's hesitation, he starts off home.

It is not far. He soon rounds a hill and there they are, in the distance. The little cluster of buildings, so small against the thickly-forested hillside looming over it.

He winds down the window. The air is cool and fresh, invigorating.

_And_, he thinks, _deceptive_.

The road beneath the compacted ice is just dirt and rock, now. His is the only place it leads to.

He inspects what he can see of the house as he draws closer. The snow is light, but still enough to noticably reduce visibility. Nothing looks out of place.

He brings the car to a halt just inside the always-open front gate and rushes out, weapon at the ready.

He listens.

There's nothing but the gentle, whispering sound of falling snow.

He treads around the house, weapon leveled. One eye ahead of him, one eye on the woods around.

The window that he broke is boarded up, as always.

Nothing seems awry.

He circles the tool shed and then the garage, silently opening the door of the latter, then returns hurriedly to the car.

Still, he listens for a moment before he gets in, looking out into the valley of sorts beyond.

Seemingly satisfied, he starts the engine and takes the car into the garage.

He kills the engine the moment it's in, unbuckling and then taking the rifle strapped to the passenger seat, fumbling his way out of the car. He slings the longer weapon over his shoulder, such that it rests against his back.

It's quiet out. There's just the rustling, of course. The snow seems to be coming down a bit harder now.

He swings the door shut and locks it, making for the front door.

He makes a last scan before he unlocks it. The snow is falling quite heavily now. He unlocks the door quietly, turning the handle.

Kicking it open he advances inside and clears both ends of the corridor. He was alone in the entry-way.

He checks the bolts. All locked, from this side.

He takes the keys out of the front door and moves to shut it but something in the snow catches his eye.

His eyes widen as he drops to one knee and struggles to bring his weapon to bear in time -

Gazing down the iron sights, finger on the trigger, he...

He blinks.

He crouches there in the entryway, weapon leveled at the snow as it falls thick and fast.

_It was nothing..._

Visibility is right down. He can't even see out to the front gate.

Still, he waits.

He forces his breathing into a measured, even rhythm.

He relaxes his grip on the weapon ever so slightly, his knuckles returning to a sickly-pale shade of yellow-brown.

Minutes pass.

The sound of the falling snow is... soothing. The pure, clean white calming.

He gets to his feet, still wary.

And quickly closes the door, almost reluctantly.

Locking and bolting it behind him, he moves to the cabinet and opens it.

He hesistates for a moment.

His eyes flick to the door.

He lets the rifles hang off his shoulders and takes the machine-pistol, quietly ghosting over to the stairs.

He clears the stairs themselves, bolting the door behind him. Turning the flashlight on again, he unbolts the second door and bursts into the upstairs corridor.

It seems quiet, and empty.

Locking the door behind him he advances into the kitchen, confirming its emptiness and bolting the door behind him.

Resting the machine-pistol on the counter-top, he unbolts the shutters and opens them a fraction.

Poised to shut and bolt them at any moment, he peers through the gap.

_Nothing._

He shut them. Bolted them. The room was dim, the flashlight competing with the shreds of grey, exhausted light that filtered through the shutters.

He reached over and picked the weapon up, switching the light off.

_Stupid._

It wasn't dark out. Still, he drew the curtains over the shutters and flicked the light back on and _listened_.

He only heard the sounds of the house, it's low groaning and creaking. The soft rustle of the snow, and maybe of the trees. His breathing, and his heartbeat.

_Nothing. It was nothing..._

Tired, he slumped with his back against the pantry.

* * *

How's that for a prologue?

(No need to be shy, now. I only know what you tell me!)

Like Mr Brown's original short short story, which I have so lovingly ripped off, I'd like to think of this chapter as a stand-alone story in its own right. Do check out another fic of mine, 'Late!' if you found this one to your liking. It's only a wee little thing, a one-shot, but I'm rather proud of it.

You have my apologies for the errors grammar and seplling.

... I'm sure Misters Anno and Brown won't mind any of this, nor Studio Gainax. I mean, I'm not making money or anything...


	2. Man's Best Friend

He took a last look about them. The high-rises loomed, the drab grey of the concrete and steel structures complementing the lighter grey of the sky. There were a handful of cars parked about the place, but that was all. Weeds were everywhere, and grass had sprung up in little tufts. The frosts had already taken its toll upon them, however; much of the greenery had begun to wilt and brown in their cracks and crannies. Taking a breath, he pushed the door open.

"Ken! Long time no see!"

He gave a friendly wave in the direction of the cash register as he entered the store. Missy padded in after him, her claws clicking on the floor.

"Shinji, my best customer! 'owyagoin'?"

Shinji founding himself grinning a little. "Surviving. How-"

"Heyheyhey!" Shinji balked, remembering Missy. He had already started to usher her back out again, wincing at his mistake.

"Sorry, sorry. Policy, I know."

Missy gave him a dejected look. She knew what was coming.

"_Stay_, Missy."

She sat on her haunches, obediently. He gave her a gentle pat before re-entering.

He smiled apologetically in the direction of the counter without quite looking at it on his way down the aisles. He talked over the shelves as he made his selection.

"Sorry about that. It's just..."

"'s fine, s'fine... right funny weather we've been having, ay?"

Unable to choose, he swept the whole shelf of tinned legumes into his satchel. Not wanting to be rude, he blurted the first thing that came to mind as he looked about for something with protein.

"Yeah. Do you think it'll snow?"

"Don't see why not. Used to happen at least once a year back in the day, and we was further south than this."

"Seasons again, huh."

"Yup. Didn't even realise I'd missed them 'til they started again. Bit longer than they used to be, of course."

He wouldn't know. Moreover, he couldn't think of anything to say as he lugged his haul to the counter. There was nothing to say, really. He dumped the bags on the counter.

"All right, I've got..."

"Dear gods, man, do you have to do this to me every time? Can't you just use the baskets like normal people?"

Shinji eyed the neat stack of baskets by the counter, then its counterpart by the front door.

"Er, well-"

"Jus' screwing with ya. Whatever floats yer gloriously heroic boat."

Shinji wasn't sure whether-

"-'twas just a joke, 'kay? Don't be so bloody _negative_ all the time! Now, let's get counting..."

When everything had been counted, tallied, and totalled, Shinji made a note of the transaction in his pocket-book. Tucking it away, he burdened himself with his nutritious plunder.

"All right, thanks again. Keep well!"

"You too, Mister Ikari. Survive, ay."

He nodded his respects as he headed out again, closing the door behind him. His gaze lingered on the large sheet of plasterboard he had taped over a section of it. The cracks ran all the way along the pane, though only the covered section was properly broken.

She looked at him expectantly.

"Come on, Missy. Let's go."

His tread is heavy as he makes navigates his way through the streets. The empty streets. He checks his watch. It's about lunch-time. There's a slight breeze. It's probably what's causing all the little sounds he hears about him - the regular clinks, occasional groans and creaks and so on. Some are louder than others.

A particularly loud creak from somewhere nearby has him on edge for a brief moment before he identifies it as having come from above street-level.

Just a minute or so after his little scare, he rounds one last corner and makes for the cleanest car on the street. A nameless sedan of the type that is seen on every street corner, he unlocks it and deposits the bags in the mostly-empty boot. Like a gentleman he opens the passenger-side door for Missy and shuts it behind her before getting in himself.

The drive out of town is singularly uneventful. He's taken this route a few times before, so there's no need to worry about getting lost.

He has a map in the car now, anyway, after that one time.

He takes the minor roads to avoid the deadlock on the motorways.

"It's lunch-hour, after all." he muses to Missy's attentive but uncomprehending stare "What do you expect when everyone tries to be somewhere else all at once?"

She licks her nose.

Once they've cleared the last house of the suburbs, he feels much more at ease. It's pretty plain sailing from here on back. He slows the car to a stop for a moment to wind down her window.

After a minute or so at speed, she still hasn't moved. He's quietly amused.

"You know you want to..." he says with a little smirk.

She gives him a look as if to say she didn't need any of his so-called consideration, thank you very much, especially if he's going to be _like that_ about it.

A couple of minutes later she gives him a look before sticking her head out and panting in the breeze. He waits a moment before reaching over and ruffling her fur, smiling. She turns her head to blink begrudging thanks at appreciation at him before turning back to face the road ahead, tongue out.

He eyes the leafless trees to either side of them, but only for a moment. Even as his thoughts wander, his eyes keep to the road. There's a patch of darker clouds coming on from the north-east. They've probably come all the way down from the Arctic, they look fit to burst.

With snow, probably.

Shinji takes note as up ahead, a brown blob begins to obscure the black of the asphalt. A hundred yards off, it is clearly discernible as a fallen tree. It blocks the whole road.

He brings the car to a halt - gradually, being mindful of Missy. Not that, being a sensible driver, he's a big fan of screeching stops anyway. They come to a halt not more than fifty yards from the thing.

Her tongue returns to his mouth and she gives him a disappointed look. There's no whine of protest or anything, but it's there in her eyes. She's not a puppy anymore, but even so. He gives her a fond, reproachful look. "That won't work on me," he said, lying "and besides, we had to stop. Even _you_ can tell that." He lightly bops her on the nose with a finger "Silly thing."

Pointed lecture complete, he pauses as he realises that she doesn't look annoyed. He stares at his lap.

If Missy was a person, she be annoyed right now.

He smiles a little, but it fades quickly. All she understood was the (fond) tone he used.

He turns back to the problem at hand. It's a pretty big tree... it blocks all four lanes in its entirety.

It's not very thick, though. He has a chainsaw. If he cut it at its thinnest point...

He frowns - the shape is a bit odd - then squints.

It's two trees. Two trees are blocking the road.

His eyes drifted over to one side of the road and took in the sight of where the tree had snapped, practically at ground-level. The throttling hum of the engine seemed very loud in the silence. He couldn't see, from this angle, where the other tree had fallen from. Looking back to the first tree, it looked like rot or something. It hadn't been chopped down or anything like that.

Through all this, she'd been looking his way. He turned to meet her gaze with a fond smile. She wasn't looking at him, though.

She was staring off into the woods.

He frowned, following her gaze.

The forest floor was thick with leaves. The trees were bare, or very nearly.

He craned his neck past her, his eyes on the woods as he gave her a reassuring rub.

Her fur bristled under his touch and she met his gaze for a moment. Her expression was unreadable.

She stared out into the woods again for a brief moment, but seemed to have lost interest in whatever it was.

He gave her an affectionate scratch. Probably a stray or something.

* * *

It was a beautiful day. Humid, warm, and sunny with only a few thin streaks of cloud in the sky. A day like most of the ones he had known, before...

He reached out from where he lay on the asphalt to pick off a blade of grass. He shrivelled it between his fingers and brought it to his nose. It smelled like peace, and quiet. Of freedom.

And loneliness.

He was going to see her today. She had radioed him at twelve last night, their _radio hour, _for the first time in...

Since before the leaves had begun to die. The last days of summer.

They had to meet, she had said.

Something was _wrong_, was all she told him.

His eyes flicked to _her_, where she sat on the grass by him, dozing in the sunlight. She was so _lazy_, sometimes. Especially when it was warm. He stretched out a hand and just managed to brush her nose with his fingertips. She stirred a little, giving his outstretched fingers a lick before settling down again.

He, too, settled down to bask in the heat, enjoying it while it lasted. He had known that seasons meant hot months and cold months, but it was only now that it was getting steadily colder that he really paid them any notice. The leaves were going brown - _dying_ - and falling off the trees. It was deeply unsettling to behold the world - the green, green world that had sprung up everywhere and so quickly come to replace the red and the grey of the old - dying, or seeming to die, all around him.

He had come to love how green it was, how completely it had crowded out the red of the sea, drowned out the greys and blacks of the pavements and the roads and the houses...

He looked up to where the skyscrapers still stood, largely unclaimed by the mosses and trailing creepers that had already brought down many lesser structures. Out here, the towers of the old city - old! it hadn't even been a year - seemed very far off.

Here, in a little village not far off one of the main roads, the buildings still stood. All about him the green endured.

At one edge of what had been the village green, there was a post with a sign nailed to it. He continued to lie lay on the road nearby, enjoying the sun while he could. He read the sign for the nth time. It had originally been a bathroom sign, complete with arrows pointing in opposite directions. Two words, only:

His, and Hers.

...it was funny, how what had been such an irrelevant artefact had come to express a fundamental tenet of their shared existence.

Electric cars were quiet things. The first thing he heard of her was the squealing of brakes. He looked over and his eyes went wide at the sight of the van coming for him at break-neck speed. It swerved to the other side of the road as he scrambled over onto the green. Between the two of them they managed to avoid getting him killed, albeit by an uncomfortably close margin.

"Why the _hell_ were you lying on the road, you moron!?"

It was more of a shriek than a question. He caught himself just in time to bottle up his indignation and assume a poker face, quickly blurting out some pleasantry or other.

"I'm glad to see you're looking..."

...before trailing off. She continued to stare expectantly as the silence became too long. It quickly became too long for him to feel comfortable saying anything _at all_, lame or not.

_Whatever_. She was still good with comebacks, of course. He didn't stop avoiding her gaze, but he was listening alright. How could he not be listening? She decided to let him off easy this time, though. He already had that kicked-puppy look.

"And I'm not impressed. Now get in my van, _third_."

He still hesitated, looking to that damned bitch of his. _She_ was watching her warily. Which suited her just fine; she didn't like the little mutt either.

At least she was just sitting there like a good girl, this time.

"Trust me, I have candy."

Apparently, he still hadn't rediscovered his sense of humour. Though that little, barely-there smile would do for now.

As appreciative as ever of his exhausting enthusiasm and vitality, she grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him after her. She released him in front of the passenger door.

He felt himself shying away, a little, from her gaze. It was intimidating now, to say the least. It was the cold calculation in it, the way she seemed to be sizing him up like a piece of meat or a prize-horse.

She reached for the door-handle, but hesitated. She spoke out, something unidentifiable clouding her suddenly-husky voice.

"Change of plans."

"Huh...?"

Grabbing his arm, she led him around to the back of the van and released him to open one of the rear doors.

"Uh..."

She rummaged around for something as he tried to work out something to say. Stumped, he looked to Missy for advice. Still sitting in the same place, she gave him a blank look as if to say 'I'm a _dog_. _Why are you looking to me?_" He blinked. Miss licked her nose as if to say, _"_You need to get out more. With _people." _He smiled as Missy cocked her head to one side, dumbly. He turned and saw his human compatriot still rummaging around, on her knees and occasionally her hands... he blushed and looked away as he caught himself admiring her curves.

Missy looked smug. _Far_ too smug. He shot her a glare, but she just licked her nose as if to point out: "_Dog_, remember? Can't actually think (complicated thoughts)."

He kept glaring anyway, though _she _was right of course. His fellow non-animal called out to him.

"Right. _C'mere_."

Turning to face her he yelped as he felt himself _yanked_ backwards by his belt. Stumbling backwards and half-tripping over the van's bumper or whatever it was, he half-fell inside before she got a proper grip on his torso and _tackled_ him the rest of the way in, and down. She pulled his legs inside and shut the door behind them as he groaned and rubbed his head where he'd just hit it, fighting to get his breath back. He barely noticed Missy's yelping, or the clicking of cold metal until it was around both wrists and his arms were forced above his head...

Outside, Missy yelped and snarled at the closed door, at the strange and strange-smelling person beyond it that was not her pack-leader - her Shinji.

"Missy!" came the call from inside the van. She didn't stop yelping right away, but that didn't mean she wasn't listening. She cocked her head to one side as Shinji's attempt at soothing tones kept breaking off on alarmed and not-unpleasantly distracted notes. "Sit, Missy! Stay! I'll just be ah-ahn... um, a minute, okay - _ah!_ No, not...! Ahwait, wait a second, no, _please..._ah, _ahhhh_... guh...ahn..."

Head cocked to one side, Missy listened. He didn't _sound_ distressed, not _really_...

* * *

I just realised that this had been sitting around, semi-finished and un-loved, for over a _month_ now. Moreover, I realise that this is the first time I've had Asuka around - feedback would be nice, if there are any Asuka-specialists out there and actually reading this tripe!

No apologies will be forthcoming for the first-draft feel - which will doubtless disappear soon as my post-publishing editing compulsion kicks in - or the fluff. _I like fluff!_

Even if it seems horribly, _horribly _out of place in a (horror) suspense-thriller.

...seems.


	3. Alone in Snow

And now, for another stand-alone/complex story. Much like chapter one, I like to think of the greater part of this chapter as a story in its own right (there's a line separating the potentially stand-alone bit from the not-stand-alone bit), though the whole chapter is part of the greater storyline. Many thanks to EJ and OM for their help with editing this monstrosity.

* * *

Again he woke by the cooling embers of the fire, machine-pistol gripped in his hands.

He let it rest in his lap and for a long time he sat, and drifted between dozing and waking as he listened to the creaking of the house, and the rustling of the trees.

Close by, there was a loud crack as of a snapping branch.

He woke, remaining quiet, and calm, hands on the weapon as he listened to the house, and to the woods.

He heard the wind, and the rustling of the branches. And softer still, soft as a whisper, a gentle sound of settling snow.

He remained seated, listening. He watched a few, scattered embers fade and glow, glow and fade with the flow of the air that drifted down the chimney. They were bright by contrast with the darkness of the room. The boarded-up windows were completely dark, the embers and the anaemic light from the chimney giving the room a bare suggestion of illumination.

He eyed his watch for a brief moment, then returned his gaze to the embers.

It was nothing.

He remained seated, watching. He had to leave today. He had to get out.

He had to leave.

He sat, and waited. His eyes flicked to the watch, then returned to the embers.

He sat for a long time.

He looked at his watch again and this time, he ghosted to his feet. The room was as he'd left it -

...

The locker.

He stared at its open doors.

He never left it open.

Never.

His eyes darted about the room, from one corner to another -

nothing

- and he soon stopped as he noticed the dull pain.

Staring at them, the source of the pain, he forced his hands to relax their grip on the weapon. His knuckles darkened to their usual pale, jaundiced, pallor.

Breathing deep, he surveyed the room one last time.

Nothing seemed amiss.

He took a deep breath.

He padded past yesterday's bottle of rice-wine and over to the locker. The doors clicked shut at his touch.

He breathed deep, and listened. Exhaled, and breathed.

Breathing evenly he listened, and padded over to the door. Listening, he poised himself with a hand on the bolt.

He drew it back and opened the door and the screech made him leap back and away and bring the pistol up -

_- too slow! -_

_...nothing?_

Listening to the sounds of the settling house, he crept to one side to check through the half-open door.

Nothing.

He padded silently forward - nothing - with his gaze firmly on the darkness of the corridor ahead.

He darted into the gloom and silence of the corridor confirming, in a second, the emptiness of that end of it before whirling about -

- nothing.

He turned to the door. He gave it a tap, and it squeaked.

The hinges needing oiling. That was all...

He massaged his temples with his free hand - then snapped to attention with both hands on his weapon, facing the window...

He listened.

He didn't relax as he crept to the window, hand to the latch, and undid it...

He opened the shutters a crack, and an exhausted sliver of grey light trickled in from under the curtains.

He let his eyes adjust before opening it all the way. Then, his eyes level with the windowsill, he lifted the curtain up a fraction.

The land beyond was grey, and brown, and white. It was snowing again. The snow thick on the ground now...

...

He made for the kitchen. Listened at the door, then unbolted and opened it and cleared the room in a fluid movement, advancing to check the integrity of the shutters.

Everything seemed fine.

He bolted the door shut, and was in near-total darkness again. The shutters betrayed only the barest hint of light.

He went to the nearest window and opened the shutters, spying from under the curtain as before.

Snow. Everywhere, and falling slowly. That was bad.

The car...

His tracks...

Leaving the window, he went to inspect the larder in the near-darkness.

There was still some rice, which he was thankful for. Mindful of his ulcers, he checked the tinned food...

There wasn't much. Most of it wasn't proper food. He held up a tin up to the light.

Water chestnuts.

He set it down on the bench and didn't bother to scrub out the remains of the last batch from the pot as he filled it with dried rice and some melted snow-water. He placed it on the hob and lit it, leaving it to cook. He went back to looking at the pantry.

Hadn't stocked enough.

There were just a handful of cans left, and they weren't really...food. Moving aside a few bottles of rice-wine, he singled one out and looked at it in the light. Coconut cream.

After a moment's hesitation, he got the opener and prised both cans open, using a spoon to scrape the contents into the pot. He filled the can of coconut cream with some water and swilled it around to get the last of it out and into the rice. He put the lid back on and let it stew, sitting down with the lid from the cream-can.

He stared at the cream stuck to it.

Once he'd licked it clean, he hunched over with his elbows on the table and stared at nothing in particular.

A moment later, his mind made up, he turned the gas off. He moved the pot onto the biggest ring and turned the gas up all the way, igniting it.

After a moment's hesitation at the door, he went through.

A few steps later he paused and listened for a brief moment. Satisfied, he unbolted the door to the dressing-room and went in.

A lot of laundry needed to be done. But there just wasn't enough water. The snow didn't melt on its own anymore...

He put the machine-pistol down and took his boots and both pairs of socks off for the moment, wiping his feet with a shirt taken from the pile of dirty clothing. He put on a new pair of under-socks, but replaced the old ones over them. Mindful of the laundry situation, he simply turned his vest and under-pants inside-out and continued wearing them. Pants. Shirt with sleeves. Jumper. Hoodie.

Fully dressed, he buttoned himself into a flowing mass of white. Originally a simple brown, oiled longcoat, he had shortened it so it reached just below his knees and sewed a mass of white bedsheets over the top of it. He tucked a pair of mittens into an inner pocket.

Taking up his pistol again and locking the door behind him, he re-entered the kitchen and bolted that door too.

The rice wasn't ready, so he put the pistol down and sat at the table for a long moment with his head in his hands.

The low whistling woke him with a start as he grabbed for the gun -

- he got up and pulled the lid off, ending the sound. He cut the gas.

Pistol still in-hand, he put it down to find a spoon and ladled the rice into a clean bowl. He replaced the pot's lid, produced a couple of towels from somewhere and covered the pot with them.

He took the bowl, the spoon, and the pistol to the table with him and sat down.

He eventually found that he'd been just... staring, absent-mindedly, at the table for who knew how long. He looked at the rice and found himself staring at it too. The gluggy, watery rice gave up a constant cloud of sweet-smelling steam.

He ate quickly, before the rice got any colder, and licked the bowl clean when he was done. He left it on the table and went to peer through the window-

-nothing.

The skies were a uniform grey but, they weren't too dark today. The buildings of the city loomed dark, tall, and indistinct over the trees, and the hills; out here, they were but a shadow hanging over the horizon.

He closed the shutters and left, bolted the kitchen behind him, bolted shut the bedroom. He looked through the hallway-window.

Nothing.

Shutters shut after a moment's movement, he paused for a moment to listen; to let his eyes adjust to the darkness.

He made his way down the stairs and onto the ground floor, clearing it and confirming the place's structural integrity. Alone again today, apparently, and that was good.

That was good.

At the locker he exchanged his machine-pistol for his usual weapons - rifle, carbine, and handgun - and webbing, hung loose and baggy over his coat. He loaded them all in turn. Finally, he forwent the mittens for pair of fingerless gloves.

Carbine in hand, he moved to the front door. Taking a deep breath and counting to ten, he let it out and took another.

He unlocked and unbolted it before, carbine leveled at it, yanking it open.

It opened silently, thankfully.

_Have to oil bedroom door._

The air was fresh, and seemed bitterly - bitingly - cold to his quickly-cooling features. He surveyed the bright, white, emptiness. It was the same. Always the same, these days.

He stepped out onto the porch, head darting to one side and then the other...

...nothing.

He continued to scan the emptiness, the whiteness, the brightness...

_Nothing, nothing, nothing..._

Guard up, as ever, he stepped out onto the snow, and sank ankle-deep into it.

Looked to his foot. Any deeper, and he'd need new boots.

Looked up at, to, the nearby crunch.

Raised rifle.

Took in its form. They were everywhere.

_Rabbits_.

They were some of the first wild animals he'd seen, back when...

Focusing on the present, he took stock of the creature in his sights.

Stringy, thin little thing. The others would bolt the moment he shot one. And what little meat there was, was only good for the protein value.

_The celery of animals._

Plus, he'd have to skin and gut it.

He lowered his weapon and looked to the hills about him. He'd seen - spilled, bled, and _smelled_ - enough blood for a lifetime. The hills loomed, dark and empty.

So quiet.

All so, so quiet. There was only, all around him and everywhere, the gentle little barely-there sound each fleck and flake made as each settled. Somewhere up the near hillside, a bird twittered to itself.

He hesitated. He _had to_ go today, he had to leave... today wasn't good. The weather could get worse. Much worse. And if it did...

...but when would it get better? He didn't know. And he needed more... _everything. _And urgently.

Especially food.

He crunched out a few more steps from the house, and the rabbits scattered.

He made his circuit around the house. Rounded the corner - the hillside was, or at least seemed, deserted.

He kept going.

_Windows... fine._

Broken window still boarded up. The cracks in one wall were continuing to steadily, gradually fan outward.

He rounded another corner. The hillside was still quiet, apart from that one bird. The day got noticeably darker all of a sudden. Another layer of cloud had come between him and the sun...

Eyes to the sky, his eyes alighted on the roof - and he took hurried steps to get distance between them.

There was nothing up there, apparently.

He kept moving along, one eye on the roof and another on the hillside.

Rounded last corner. Roof still clear, hillside still clear, he went on to make a round of the shed. There was nowhere for anything to hide on its low roof.

Shed fine. He rounded back to the house, to the front door.

...he'd left front door open.

He went and closed the front door, locking both locks. The second was a bit stiff.

_Must grease_.

Hung the key around his neck by its ratty old string, tucked it into the folds of his clothing.

Turned about.

He made himself look up, and out. And the emptiness of the view really struck home for a long moment.

Getting a grip on himself, he crunched his way over to the shed.

Weapon down, he instinctively kept a dozen paces between him and the corner as he went past it, giving the view beyond only a couple of cursory glances.

One last scan of the hills. The trees were barren, bare. Encrusted with frost and ice, covered with snow. The valley, too, white and bare.

Everywhere the snow.

He crouched and produced another key from his pockets and... key to the lock, he froze.

It wasn't locked.

Thinking unusually clearly all of a sudden, he realised that he had left his bedroom locker open before. That wasn't a 'never' thing. He got drunk in his room, in his home, just to relax a little - within reasonable limits - and make the days pass quicker; he'd left doors open and unlocked before.

But never the curtains, and never the shutters. And never his bedroom door, or a door _to_ or _on _the outside, like this one.

He realised all that in less than a second, and in that time he was already up with his rifle to his shoulder and stepping back -

and looking around -

- and turning about, rifle levelled at the barren trees, the hills, the valley -

...

All was quiet. The snow kept falling.

Rifle held high, and shifting on the spot, he eyed the lock.

...

He looked around him again. He set off and paced around the shed once more, glancing to the hillside as he did so.

He came to stand before it once more.

The locker.

The locker in his room. And now this. Twice was not just coincidence. But...

He looked to the valley.

The rabbits remained.

...he eased up a little, and a little more again as he heard the lone bird's cheeping and tweeting.

Okay, so he'd had a bottle of something yesterday. A _whole bottle_. He hadn't meant to drink it all, not initially. Anyway, maybe that explained the bedroom locker. And this lock...

Maybe he'd just forgotten it.

He stared at it, and at the door. Human hands had undone that lock. Whether his, or...

_Also mine_.

The grin that flitted across his face was slight, and faded quickly. It had been kind of funny when he'd first come up with that 'joke'.

That was a long time ago, now.

Moment past, he let the rifle fall to rest against his chest, pulled out the pistol - safety off, it was always off -and yanked the door up and open and took several hurried steps back.

Nothing stirred in the cluttered silence inside. He paced to one side then the other - nothing. Nothing under the car and, he paced to the windows, nothing inside.

_Just me_.

He checked the chains on the tires - fine, though the tires needed more air.

He didn't know how to fix that, though.

He gazed out into the emptiness. The snow was lighter, now, and a light breeze had picked up.

Maybe he'd just have to get new tires.

He strapped the longer rifle into the passenger seat, as usual, and let the carbine rest in his lap after he sat down.

He keyed the ignition - keys were already there, of course - and after a few false starts, the engine coughed into life.

_We're in business._

He shifted gears and backed the car out. He could feel it sink into the snow as it went... these were not ideal conditions.

Coming to a halt, he shifted gear again and set off past the house, stopping again at the gates.

He got out to open them, taking the carbine with him. He took surveyed the house and its surrounds as he moved the gates aside. The rabbits were still there.

Getting back into the little sedan, he took off through the valley at some twenty kilometres an hour, following the road as best he could.

The snow eased off considerably - nearly stopping completely - about the time he lost sight of the house. He was away, now. He was really doing it.

He picked up the pace a little now he was on proper roads, but didn't push it. He was still driving on snow, after all.

He needed a lot of things.

_A lot_.

Food, gas tanks, petrol. But food, most of all.

Some meat, preferably. A few blocks of curry would go a long way to making his food - stews, mostly - more palatable.

It was the little things that got to him. Like the lack of onion, or leek, or peppers... meals were just that bit blander without them. He hadn't seen an onion in...

_A long time_.

The road was wider now. A highway. Fields everywhere, so not many buildings. The fields had become overgrown long ago as the vegetation everywhere had grown wild and unchecked.

He considered his choice of targets. He'd been saving the suburbs for times like now, but... he hadn't factored in just how fast a lot of these places were falling apart. The frost, and the snow, had made things much worse. Most of these places had been built in the virtually season-less years after Second Impact. The ceilings were too high, the construction too shoddy; most of them had long since collapsed.

And now the rubble was under a couple of inches of snow.

He could either head right into the concrete and steel structures of the inner-city, his old haunt, or for make for the sturdy buildings of the older farming and tourist communities that had ringed the lake and the valleys around it.

He could see the towers from here. They, well, _towered_ over the landscape, dark and tall. He was surprised to see that almost all of the windows were still there, considering the state of the outer-city's prefabricated buildings. Thinking on it, there was no reason they shouldn't still be there. He headed for them. He wanted to visit the lake, while he was out here, so that meant going through the inner-city first.

But he wouldn't stop. Not in the inner-city.

He drew closer and he saw though cracks were everywhere, branching right out across the all-windowed façades of various buildings. The car jolted over something and he slowed a little. The all-steel structures were mostly alright, save for their windows. But up close, he could see the cracks in the concrete of the less window-full structures, and even the streets themselves...

The car jolted violently over one bump too many, and he looked about him for a brief moment - the streets were pretty much clear, save for the parked cars here and there - and brought the car to a halt.

He locked the doors. Cars aside, the streets had been clear the last time he was here - before the snow.

So. _Bumps?_

He frowned and checked the road in his mirrors. Nothing unusual.

Suddenly quite acutely aware of the dimness of the day and the shadow all around him, a hand went to his pistol as the engine idled, and he and peered closer into the mirror.

A bump, alright. A _ridge_. He traced it right down the street...

And over to a building whose windows had cracked in-line with the bump at street level. The rest of the... ridge... snaked away into a sidestreet.

He frowned.

Frowned harder.

Then, he got a sinking feeling.

The rock here was pretty sturdy...well, it was proper rock and not just sandstone or something. It certainly wasn't reclaimed from a swamp, like his hometown...

All the same, the ice and snow probably was physically weighing the entire city down. And it _wasn't_ just solid rock beneath the streets; there were pipes, and sewers. He knew that many of the former had burst and the latter had probably flooded very quickly with no-one to monitor or maintain them.

There were subways, too... and those would probably would have flooded as well, in time. The streets - and maybe the whole city - were, _was_, sinking into those spaces.

Maybe it had already sunk as far as it would go.

_Probably not._

But either way, these streets were cracked, and dangerous. It was possible that, by the time winter ended... _whenever_ winter ended, because he didn't know how long that was... they couldn't be driven on anymore. Never mind the end of winter; the entire city might just collapse in on itself any day now.

He suddenly realised just how dark it was about him. The city was _dim_; the buildings crowded out what little light there was, and it was already (well) past midday. It got that bit darker as the snow began to fall again - only lightly, but still.

He also became aware of just how _quiet_ it was, apart from the muffled hum of the underpowered engine.

It's wasn't a _good_ sort of quiet. It was _eerie_. Even the vines and creepers that had once grown everywhere here, covering everything, were now black and withered - the cold having proved too much for their delicate leaves and branches. The city had been green, and before that blue and grey; now, it was just white, and grey, and black.

He shivered despite the warmth of his his clothing and of the car's little heater. Both hands on the wheel, he gave the accelerator a little nudge, and was glad that he would soon be out of there.

The engine coughed, and complied.

It took far too long for him to get out of the dark, silent city. Unlike the country, nothing lived there. The birds nested there, as they did everywhere else... but there was no food for them. No parks, no fields, no grass. Just building after building and, when the humans and their crumbs had gone for good, no food.

Once out of the city and by the lake, he slowed the car to a stop and turned the engine off. He stepped outside quickly, so as not to let the heat out, and buttoned up his coat as he made for the decking overlooking the waterfront.

This had been a scenic spot once - well, it still was very pretty - with a trees, and grass, and benches. And a walkway overlooking the lake and its fishery.

...damn. He totally should have gone fishing there sometime, when the water wasn't all...

The fish were all long-dead, he'd bet. The lake was totally frozen over now. He used the butt of his rifle to clear room for him to rest his arms on the handrail of the walkway overlooking the waters. The lake, too, was buried under the snow.

It was still beautiful, though, this spot. The hills, the lake, _everything_ before him was a scene of clean, crisp white perfection. Even if its beauty, the beauty of the lake, was now of a bleak, desolate nature. Once, it had been forever in motion; ribbed, and rippling, and glittering in the sunlight. Now, it was fantastically flat, and smooth, and... perfect. Then, fantastically blue on a backdrop of green, and blue. Now, purest white against white and grey.

It was a deceptively deadly beauty, though. There was no way he could admire its perfection from anything but a distance.

He grinned for a moment as the thought reminded him of someone long-gone.

He made an about face and returned to the car, the city looming over him as he walked towards it, too, for a brief moment - and its darkness, and its silence, and its quiet _other_-ness was overwhelming.

He hurried to the car unnecessarily fast, climbing inside and - having pulled his coat inside after him, and locking the door - keying the ignition a few times...

And again...

He stared at the wheel, then inspected the ignition.

Keyed it again.

_Nothing._

In the quickly-cooling confines of the car he checked his watch, then looked to the emptiness all about him - the desolation of the city, and the wastes of the lake and its surrounds.

Two hours 'til sundown.

Close by, something chittered.

* * *

"Where are we going?"

The last vestiges of her smile faded, and her light touch upon his neck tightened, becoming a grip.

That, too, faded as she seemed to realise her actions and tried to smile again, for his sake.

"To my half."

He smiled too, just happy to see her again. She leaned down to murmur into his ear, and he shivered involuntary. She grinned her words.

"The better half."

Teeth bared, she moved in for the kill...

Outside, Missy hunched down and got settled as her master cried out, again. She didn't like it when she couldn't see him, like just now. They were never parted for long, but now...?

A cloud blocked the sun, and the square was suddenly that much cooler as a chill breeze drafted in from the north-east...

"But why?"

She looked him dead in the eye. Then looked away.

"I dunno. Those farm hicks probably just saw a stray dog or something."

"There're wolves now." he said "I've seen them."

She gave him a funny look. "Wolves," she said, as if testing the word out. "What're they?"

"They're kind of like... wild dogs..." he rolled over and traced the character in the dust of the wall. It was a bit too far away, so he ended up wiggling over -

-"Here." With a quick couple of pulls, the ropes came apart and his hands were free. She had the playful, predatory look again.

"Thanks," he said as he identified the look -

Raw meat. It was like when Missy had a particularly fine, probably still-bleeding, cut of raw meat in her sights.

Putting aside the burgeoning feeling that turning his back to her might not be such a good idea after all, he half-turned back to the dusty wall.

"Wolf", he said -

-"Ow! Owowowwwplease stop,"

Pulling back a fraction and wiping her lips with the back of a hand, she grinned at his discomfort. "No pain, no gain, third."

He managed a look of disapproval. The amusement on her face made it harder than he'd thought. "That doesn't mean you have to bruise my bruises!"

She pulled back and her grin got progressively wider as she took in the sight of his neck... and his shoulders... and his back.

"So what, you had a good time. That's only to be expected, after all-"

-"'cos I'm the great Asuka Langley Soryu, all hail me, blah blah blah yadda yaddaow!" He glared daggers at her.

Teeth, and lips, lingering on his tender shoulder she gave him a look as if to say "Oh come on you big baby, that was just a nip...!"

He tensed up as her expression became something truly predatory "Now this-"

- she moved in for the kill, and he moaned despite himself -

_Is something to cry about._

She grinned, and nearly giggled, into the contact - the bite, the embrace.

_...stupid-head._

* * *

I don't think I've ever written a chapter so long in my life. So do forgive me if it's a little long-winded.

Thanks for sticking with me so far, oh most diligent reader and... do let me know what you think. A penny for your thoughts, ay?

Best,

Mai


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